


Lucky Number Sixx

by tryforce



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Caesar's Legion, Gen, Honest Hearts DLC, former legion courier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 17:50:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17047793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryforce/pseuds/tryforce
Summary: A collection of things I will write for my New Vegas Courier Lucky Sixx





	Lucky Number Sixx

**Author's Note:**

> Lucky gets a piece of his past, pre-Goodsprings, revealed to him by Joshua Graham. 
> 
> This is an unbeta'd, unedited, super first draft and I haven't written in a long time so forgive the quality. 
> 
> Tumblr: tryforce

“We should have given you a better welcome on your first visit to Zion, but from what I hear, the White Legs beat us to it.”

As the man named Joshua Graham returned to his task, the Courier moved further into the chamber of the cave, quietly poking around at the junk on the shelves as Graham continued with his welcome speech. 

“White Legs seem to be the only visitors we have these days, and I wouldn’t have expected anyone from the Mojave to come looking for us.”

Lucky felt the eyes of Joshua on his back briefly before returning again to his work. “And you’re a courier, no less. Not the one I was expecting, but I suppose he wouldn’t have come with a caravan.”

“I don’t know if you were close to the other members of your group, but you have my sympathy.”

“Not really,” Lucky interjected quickly before Graham had a chance to continue. He picked an old, rusted .45 out of one of the buckets on the shelf and looked down the sights idly. “Might miss Jed a bit though. I did enjoy his company,” he mused.

“Still,” Graham continued after a beat, “I pray for the safety of all good people that come to Zion, even Gentiles, but we can’t expect God to do all the work.

Lucky snorted a bit incredulously but said nothing of it.

The courier wasn’t religious by any means, he certainly didn’t believe in God. After all, what kind of God would let the world come to such a state and his children to suffer? Not one Lucky had any interest is wasting his time on, that’s for sure. 

So for Joshua to say he prays for everyone who comes to Zion, to Lucky, it’s the same as saying he just really, really hopes nothing bad happens to them and leaving it at that.

But he wasn’t about to say all that and elected to change the subject instead. 

“I came here with the Happy Trails Caravan Company to make contact with the New Canaanites,” Lucky said, putting the gun back down and turning his attention to Joshua. 

“Happy Trails. I remember. They were good friends,” mused Graham, “I have bad news for your employers. New Canaan was destroyed, it’s citizens scattered. All Because of the White Legs. And Caesar, of course.” 

“The White Legs want to join the Legion,” he continued, picking up another gun for inspection, “Caesar’s rite of passage is the destruction of the New Canaanites, almost assuredly because of me.”

“The good news is that we can help you find your way back. Daniel, one of the other New Canaanites, has made many maps of the region. The bad news is that we can’t help you right now. Not with everything that’s going on.”

Lucky wasn’t too disappointed to hear he might be staying awhile. It wasn’t like he was in a hurry to get back to the Mojave. Besides, Zion was beautiful. It was peaceful and clean. A far cry from the garbage, rubble, and chaos that was New Vegas. Maybe a little vacation was just what he needed.

But first...

“Well that’s an awful shame to hear, Mr. Graham,” Lucky said as he bowed his head slightly and removed his hat. “I’m not going to leave without offering to help, though. Is there anything I can do?”

When he looked up again Joshua had abandoned his guns and fixed him with a hard stare.

“What is it? Am I bleeding or something?” he asked, touching his hand to the gunshot wound on his forehead that was just starting to scar over. Sometimes it would reopen and bleed. But when Lucky looked at his hand there was nothing there.

“No,” Joshua growled, his voice deep, threatening; still regarding the courier with scrutiny. 

A small movement on the table captured his attention and when he looked, Joshua was clutching one of his .45s, pointed right at him.

Slowly, Lucky raised his hands in the air and backed away to the entrance of the chamber, watching Joshua’s gun that followed his every move.

“Sir, I only offered to help but if you don’t want it I can find my own way out-”

“What did you say your name was?” Graham interrupted. 

“Uh,” Lucky stalled, clearly taken off guard by the question, “Well, they call me Courier, Courier Six, sometimes just Six. I’ve taken a shine to Lucky, myself-”

“I didn’t ask what people call you, I asked for your name, boy,” Graham demanded.

If Lucky hadn’t been staring down the barrel of a hot metal .45 at the time, he might have voiced his offense at being called ‘boy.’ He was 30-something years old, hardly a boy. But at the moment, and in light of the circumstances, it was the least of his worries.

“I- I don’t know, Sir, I can’t remember,” he answered, trying to sound as honest as possible. 

“You can’t remember?” Graham repeated as he stood up and made his way down and closer to the courier, the gun never leaving its target.

“No, Sir. Can’t remember a thing before a few months ago,” he said, backing up against the wall as Graham approached. 

“What do you mean?” Graham asked, and when Lucky took too long to answer he hissed, “Speak!”

Composing himself quickly, he pointed to his forehead, “I was shot. And buried. I survived but… I don’t remember anything thing before that night.” 

Joshua was quiet as he stood in front of Lucky, studying the wound, to which Lucky used a hand to push some of his hair out of the way to see it better.

“Point blank?” Graham inquired.

“Yes, Sir.” 

“How did you survive?” 

“I don’t rightly know, Sir. Said I was clawing my way out before some RobCo robot came along and picked me like a carrot,” he said. 

Graham was silent for a few more beats, and then, “And you can’t remember anything?”

“Not a lick, Sir,” Lucky answered. 

Graham seemed to relax a bit, and eventually, he clicked the safety back on his gun and shoved it back in the waistband of his jeans before he turned from the courier to return to his table.

“You know me,” Lucky blurted, arms still in the air, “From before. You know who I am.”

Graham stopped and sighed and spoke over his shoulder quietly, “Yes. I do.”

Lucky swallowed hard. If Joshua Graham, the former Malpais Legate for the Legion knew who he was, he couldn’t imagine it was because of anything good. 

“Tell me,” he rasped, his voice cracking with emotion. He knew where this was going, and he didn’t like it, but he had to hear him say it. 

“Caesar would never admit this openly, but he knows that I’m alive. It wouldn’t have surprised me if had sent you of all people to kill me. I’ve killed every other assassin he’s thrown my way but he knows I would hesitate with you. He knew… he knew I favored you.” Graham explained. 

Lucky’s breath came out raggedly as he listened. 

That was it. He was Legion. It made him sick to his stomach and he felt filthier than he’d ever felt before. He wanted desperately to run outside, strip himself down and scrub himself raw in the river, but he wasn’t sure his wobbling legs would even take him that far, let alone anywhere at the moment.

“But, seeing as you don’t remember that part of your life,” Graham continued, turning to him once more, “this is all just a big coincidence.”

Lucky wasn’t sure if that was supposed to make him feel better but it sure as hell didn’t either way.

Slowly, he lowered his arms, and he looked away from Joshua to stare at his hands in disbelief. They were clean and dry, but all Lucky could see was caked blood coating him up to his elbows, sickeningly dripping and pooling at his feet.

Lucky had always considered himself a good person. He always lent a hand to those in need. He never turned anyone away that needed his help. He would do everything in his power and go out of his way to be kind. He enjoyed it. People admired him. He was a good guy.

He assumed that was just how he always had been. Even before Goodsprings. And even though he didn’t know much about his life before then, he never worried about it. Why would he? There was never a reason to.

Never once in his wildest dreams could he have envisioned himself as being a part of something so sick and twisted.

He wondered how many other people knew who he was. How many people knew what he did.

Suddenly, he felt less inclined to show his face around the Mojave ever again.

“I am sorry,” he heard Joshua say. At that, his stomach churned and he threw himself into one of the corners of the chamber, dropped to his hands and knees, and retched.


End file.
